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Bingtang xueli (rock sugar stewed pears)

When the dry winds of a northern winter bring on sore throats, grandmothers in Beijing and Shandong set a bowl of pear and rock sugar in the steamer, and it is now served as a soothing dessert all over China. Whole Asian pears, hollowed and filled with rock sugar, are slowly stewed until translucent and swimming in their own light syrup. The common mistake is choosing a Western pear that collapses; crisp Asian (nashi or Ya) pears hold their shape and give plenty of juice. Chef's tip: slice off the top as a lid and stew it with the pear; serving the pear with its lid back on is how it is presented at the table.

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Pav bhaji masalaPav bhaji spice blend

The bhaji at a Juhu Beach or Girgaum Chowpatty stall gets its unmistakable taste from a ready-made masala, but a home-roasted blend smells far brighter and lets you choose the heat. Whole coriander, cumin, fennel, cloves, cinnamon, cardamom and star anise are roasted, cooled and ground with Kashmiri chilli for colour, amchur (dry mango powder) for tang, kala namak (black salt) for that eggy, savoury depth, and dry ginger. A good pav bhaji masala is red, sour-salty and aromatic rather than very hot. It is also the quick way to give tawa pulao, masala toast and Bombay sandwiches their street flavour. Common mistake: stirring the masala into a dry, very hot pan; the amchur and chilli powder scorch in seconds. Chef's tip: add the masala once the tomatoes have broken down into the butter, and keep a spoonful back to sprinkle over the bhaji in the last minute for a fresh hit of aroma.

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Goda masalaMaharashtrian spice blend

Goda means sweet in Marathi, and the word describes not sugar but the warm, rounded fragrance of this masala, which every Pune and Satara household roasts in small batches. It is the soul of Brahmin Maharashtrian cooking: masale bhaat at weddings, a spoonful in amti (tangy toor dal), bharli vangi (stuffed brinjal), and usal for misal. It is dark and aromatic rather than hot, built on coriander, dry coconut (kopra) and sesame, perfumed with cinnamon, cloves and cardamom, and given its earthy, slightly musky depth by dagad phool (stone flower, a lichen), with nagkesar and maratha moggu if you can find them at a Marathi grocer. Common mistake: roasting the coconut and sesame with the hard spices on a high flame; the coconut burns before the coriander is done and the whole batch tastes bitter. Chef's tip: roast each spice in a drop of oil until a shade darker, because that slow roasting is what gives goda masala its colour.

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Hong you (Sichuan red chilli oil)

In Chengdu kitchens, a jar of hong you sits next to the stove and goes into almost everything cold: wontons in red oil, cucumber salads, cold noodles and the dressing for liang mian. Good chilli oil is a deep ruby colour, fragrant rather than burnt, with a warm, rounded heat and the tingle of Sichuan pepper. It is poured in two stages, hot then warm, so you get both toasted and bright chilli flavours. The mistake most people make is pouring smoking oil onto the flakes, which turns them black and bitter in a second; check the temperature. Chef's tip: mix coarse and fine chilli flakes, the fine for colour and the coarse for crunch and flavour, and let the oil sit overnight before using.

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Panch phoronFive-seed spice mix

Every Bengali and Odia kitchen keeps a jar of panch phoron within reach of the stove, because so much of the cooking begins with a teaspoon of it crackling in hot mustard oil. The five seeds, in equal measure, are left whole and never roasted or ground ahead: bitter fenugreek, oniony nigella (kalonji), earthy cumin, sharp black mustard and sweet fennel. Together they give a layered, slightly bittersweet aroma that is the signature of tomato chutney, cholar dal, labra, chorchori and the sweet-sour vegetable dishes of a Bengali lunch. In some traditional homes radhuni, a wild celery seed, replaces the mustard. Common mistake: tempering over a high flame. The fenugreek blackens in seconds and the whole dish tastes bitter. Chef's tip: let the oil heat until it just shimmers, add the panch phoron, and the moment the mustard starts popping and the fenugreek is reddish brown, add the vegetables or dal.

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Mango kulfiMango ice cream

Kulfiwalas in Delhi's Chandni Chowk and Mumbai's Chowpatty freeze their mango kulfi in tall aluminium cones packed in ice and salt, and come May every family wants their own. It is not ice cream: milk is boiled down slowly until it is a third of its volume, rich and faintly caramel, then cooled and mixed with thick mango pulp, so it freezes dense and chewy rather than fluffy. Serve it unmoulded on a stick, or sliced into rounds on a plate, after a summer lunch or at a birthday. The common mistake is stirring the mango into hot milk; the acid can curdle it and heat dulls the fruit, so wait until the rabri is completely cool. Chef's tip: Kesar from Gujarat or Alphonso from Ratnagiri give the colour and perfume; if you use tinned pulp, cut the sugar by half because it is already sweetened.

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Rasam powderRasam spice powder

A spoon of rasam podi, a lime-sized ball of tamarind, a tomato and a ladle of cooked toor dal: that is lunch in countless Tamil homes, from Thanjavur to Tirunelveli, and the podi is what makes one family's rasam taste unlike the neighbour's. This version is peppery and cumin-forward, as rasam should be, with roasted coriander for body and a little toor dal that thickens the broth slightly and gives it a rounded, nutty base. It is meant for clear, thin rasams: tomato rasam, pepper rasam, lemon rasam, and the one you sip as a soup when you have a cold. Make a small batch, since the aroma fades after a couple of months. Common mistake: roasting the coriander seeds until dark brown; they turn bitter and the rasam tastes burnt. Chef's tip: add rasam powder at the end, when the tamarind water is already boiling, and switch off the heat as soon as the rasam froths; boiling it hard kills the pepper aroma.

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Gulkand ice creamRose petal ice cream

Gulkand, rose petals pounded with sugar and left to mature in the sun, is what gives a meetha paan its sweet floral heart, and Mumbai parlours and Delhi dessert shops have long turned it into a pink-flecked ice cream. This no-churn version needs no machine: whipped cream and condensed milk freeze smooth, and the gulkand stays in soft, jammy ribbons that taste of roses and honey. Serve it after a Mughlai dinner, at a summer party, or between slices of malpua. The common mistake is overwhipping the cream until grainy; then the ice cream feels buttery. Stop at soft, floppy peaks. Chef's tip: loosen the gulkand in the condensed milk before folding; stirred in on its own, it sinks as sticky clumps.

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Kashmiri ver masalaKashmiri spice cakes

In Srinagar's old city, ver is still made at the end of summer and strung up to dry in kitchens: flat, ring-shaped cakes of ground spices bound with shallot paste and pungent mustard oil, dark red and rock hard. It was a way to store flavour for the long winter, when fresh ingredients were scarce. A piece grated into the pot gives Kashmiri food its typical deep red colour and its warm, sweet-hot fennel and dry ginger flavour, without tomatoes or onions: think dum aloo, nadru yakhni (lotus stem), haak (collard greens), chaman (paneer) and rogan josh. Kashmiri Muslim kitchens often add garlic; Pandit homes may leave the shallots out altogether. Common mistake: drying the cakes in a damp or closed spot; they stay soft inside and grow mould. Chef's tip: heat the mustard oil until it smokes and then cool it before mixing, to take away its raw, sharp bite.

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Malvani masalaKonkan spice blend

Head down the coast to Malvan, Vengurla or Devgad and every family has its own masala tin, ground in summer when the chillies are crisp and dry. Malvani masala is hotter and more aromatic than goda masala and uses no coconut: it is mostly Bedgi chillies (for a deep red colour and moderate heat) with a handful of fiery Sankeshwari, roasted with coriander and about fifteen whole spices including fennel, star anise, mace, nutmeg and stone flower. Fried in oil with coconut and onion, it becomes the base of kombdi vade (chicken curry with puris), bangda and surmai curries, prawn sukka, and vegetarian dishes like kala vatana usal and Malvani batata bhaji. The blend itself is vegan. Common mistake: leaving the stalks on the chillies; they grind into hard, woody bits and dull the colour. Chef's tip: dry the chillies in the sun or in a barely warm pan first, then roast them separately on low until they crackle, so they grind to a fine, bright powder.

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Almond tofu (xingren doufu)

Almond tofu has nothing to do with soybeans: it is a soft, white jelly of sweetened almond milk, cut into cubes like tofu and floated in cold syrup with fruit. It was once a palace dessert in Beijing and is now on dim sum menus in Guangzhou and Hong Kong in summer. The traditional flavour comes from southern apricot kernels (nan xing ren); this home version uses blanched almonds with a few drops of almond extract, and agar, so it is fully vegetarian. The common mistake is using too much agar, which makes it firm and rubbery; it should only just hold its shape and wobble on the spoon. Chef's tip: bring the agar to a full boil for 2 minutes before adding the milk, or it won't set at all.

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Guihua nuomi ou (sticky rice lotus root with osmanthus)

Around West Lake in Hangzhou, lotus roots are pulled from the mud in autumn just as the osmanthus trees bloom, and the two meet in this Jiangnan dessert: the hollow channels of the root are packed with soaked glutinous rice, then the whole root is simmered for hours in brown sugar until it turns rosy brown and soft. It is served cold or warm in slices, the rice showing as white dots, with a drizzle of osmanthus syrup. The common mistake is packing the rice in tight; it swells as it cooks and needs room, or the slices crack and the middle stays hard. Chef's tip: let the root cool in its syrup overnight before slicing; it firms up, cuts cleanly and soaks up more colour.

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Kokum sharbatKokum cordial

Along the Konkan coast, from Ratnagiri down to Goa, the purple kokum fruit is split and dried in the sun every summer, and the leathery rinds go into curries, sol kadhi and this sharbat. Unlike sol kadhi, there is no coconut milk here: just a clear, deep-red syrup that is fruity, tart and faintly salty, diluted with cold water and drunk after a fish lunch or on a hot afternoon to cool the stomach. Families in Malvan and Sawantwadi still make the concentrate by layering fresh fruit with sugar in jars; this quicker version uses the dried rinds you can buy anywhere. The common mistake is boiling the kokum hard for a long time, which makes the syrup taste stewed and murky; simmer gently just until the colour floods out. Chef's tip: a pinch of roasted cumin and black salt in the glass turns a simple sweet drink into the proper coastal version.

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Bel sharbatWood apple drink

Bael trees grow beside temples across Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, and in May the hard golden fruits are cracked open on the doorstep with a pestle. The orange pulp smells of tamarind, marmalade and rose, and mashed into water it makes a thick, pulpy sharbat that people in Patna, Prayagraj and Gorakhpur drink mid-morning to keep the heat at bay; it is also famously kind to the stomach. Rickshaw stalls sell it from big steel pots. Ripe fruit is essential: it should sound hollow when tapped and smell sweet. The common mistake is blending the pulp in a mixer, which crushes the seeds and sticky fibres and makes the drink bitter and gluey; soak it and mash by hand instead. Chef's tip: let the pulp soak a full 15 minutes before mashing, and it practically falls off the fibres.

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Tang cu pai gu (sweet and sour pork ribs)

In Shanghai and nearby Wuxi, these small, dark, lacquered pork ribs come to the table at room temperature as one of the cold starters at a banquet, though at home they are just as good hot with rice. The pork ribs are simmered until tender, fried, then reduced with sugar and Chinkiang black vinegar into a sticky glaze that clings to every piece. A splash of Shaoxing rice wine goes into the simmer; it cooks off completely, and you can use water instead. The mistake is pulling them off the heat while the sauce is still thin; keep reducing until it coats the ribs and bubbles in big, slow bubbles. Pork should reach at least 71 °C, well past that after the long simmer. Chef's tip: add a final dash of vinegar just before serving to bring back its sharp, fresh edge.

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Nannari sarbathSarsaparilla and lime cooler

Walk past any sarbath kadai in Madurai, Tiruchi or Chennai's Parry's Corner in summer and you'll hear the clink of a glass being stirred with a long spoon. Nannari, the sweet, woody, vanilla-like root of Indian sarsaparilla, is cooked into a dark syrup; the vendor pours a little into a glass, squeezes in a whole lime, adds a pinch of salt and ice, and tops it with water or a fizz of soda. It is sweet, sharp and earthy all at once, and nothing like the milky jigarthanda made with the same syrup. Many shops add soaked sabja seeds for texture. The common mistake is too much syrup: the root flavour gets lost in sweetness, so start with less and let the lime lead. Chef's tip: squeeze the lime straight into the glass and drop in one squeezed half; a little oil from the peel gives that roadside freshness.

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Badam milkAlmond milk

In Hyderabad and Bengaluru, darshinis and Irani cafés sell badam milk from steaming steel urns, while in North Indian homes a hot glass of it is what you get after an exam or on a cold Delhi evening. It is creamy and nutty, tinted pale gold by saffron, and has fine, pleasant flecks of almond rather than being smooth like a shake. Chilled, it is sold in bottles all summer and served at weddings. Soaking and peeling the almonds is what makes it taste clean and sweet. A common mistake is grinding the almonds dry, which turns them oily and gritty; grind soaked almonds with a little milk to a fine paste. Chef's tip: simmer gently after adding the almond paste and keep stirring, because it settles and catches on the bottom of the pan within minutes.

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Moo shu pork (mu xu rou)

Mu xu rou began in Shandong and became a Beijing home-cooking staple, a weeknight stir-fry of thin pork strips with fluffy egg, crunchy wood ear and slightly sweet dried lily buds; the name refers to the yellow egg pieces looking like osmanthus blossom. In Beijing it is eaten with rice; Americans know it rolled in thin pancakes with hoisin, and both are good. A little Shaoxing rice wine goes into the pork marinade and evaporates in the hot wok; leave it out for an alcohol-free version. The mistake is overcooking the egg at the start, so it goes rubbery; take it out while still soft. Cook the pork until no pink remains, at least 71 °C. Chef's tip: cut off the hard tips of the lily buds after soaking, or they stay woody.

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Ball curryMutton meatball curry

Ask any Anglo-Indian family in Kolkata, Chennai or Bengaluru what's on the Christmas lunch table and ball curry will be near the top, along with yellow coconut rice, roast chicken and a fruit cake for later. The 'balls' are soft koftas of spiced minced meat with onion, green chilli, mint and coriander, dropped raw into a simmering coconut and tomato curry so they absorb its flavour as they cook. Many homes use beef mince; this recipe uses mutton (goat) mince, which is easier to find in most Indian cities and gives a lighter, sweeter flavour. Lamb mince is a good swap. The curry is medium-hot, tangy from tomato and rounded off with coconut milk. Because it is minced meat, cook the koftas through to 71 °C in the centre. Serve with yellow rice, plain rice or appam. Chef's tip: wet your hands with cold water while rolling; the koftas come out smooth with no cracks and stay whole in the gravy.

75 minIndianMeatGluten free
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Kanda lasun masalaOnion and garlic spice blend

Kolhapuri women still make kanda lasun masala once a year, in the hot months, in a day-long session of frying, roasting and pounding, and the jar lasts until the next summer. The masala is a deep brick-red, oily paste-powder that smells of browned onion and garlic and sets your mouth on fire, thanks to plenty of hot chilli powder, traditionally from Sankeshwari or Lavangi chillies, plus milder Kashmiri for colour. A spoon or two transforms misal, kat (the spicy gravy for pav), batata bhaji, anda curry or the famous tambda rassa of mutton. Common mistake: frying the onions only until golden. They must be deep brown and crisp, with no moisture left, or the masala will turn mouldy within weeks. Chef's tip: dry the fried onion and garlic on paper for an hour before grinding, and keep the finished jar in the fridge if your kitchen is humid.

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Kakori kebabMinced mutton skewers

The village of Kakori, just outside Lucknow, gave its name to the softest kebab of Awadh, said to have been created for a nawab who could no longer chew. Mutton (goat) mince, ground twice until it is almost a paste, is bound with roasted gram flour, khoya and fried onion, tenderised with raw papaya and perfumed with mace, green cardamom, rose petals and a few drops of kewra. It is wrapped around long skewers and cooked over charcoal until the outside is lightly charred and the inside so delicate that it falls apart on the tongue. Lamb mince with some fat is the best swap. Kakori kebabs are an Eid and wedding favourite, served wrapped in thin rumali roti or ulte tawe ka paratha with mint chutney and onion rings. Because it is minced meat, cook it to 71 °C in the centre. Chef's tip: ask the butcher for mince from the shoulder with about 20 per cent fat and have it ground twice; lean mince makes dry kebabs that won't cling to the skewer.

60 minIndianMeatGluten free
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Chikoo ice creamSapodilla ice cream

The coast from Dahanu and Gholvad in Maharashtra up to Navsari and Valsad in South Gujarat is chikoo country, and when the orchards are heavy in winter, every home freezes a tub of this. Ripe chikoo tastes of brown sugar, malt and pear, so the ice cream needs barely any sugar and comes out a soft caramel colour, a little grainy from the fruit in a pleasing way. It's a family dessert after Sunday lunch and a favourite at Uttarayan terrace parties. The common mistake is using chikoos that are not fully soft; underripe fruit is astringent and makes the mouth feel furry. Press each one: it should give like a ripe peach. Chef's tip: blend the chikoo with the milk only just before folding; the pulp browns and turns flat if it sits around.

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Fa gao (prosperity cakes)Steamed rice flour cakes

Fa gao is the little cake on every Cantonese New Year altar in Guangzhou and in Chinatowns from Kuala Lumpur to London: the word 'fa' means both 'rise' and 'prosper', and the deeper the cross-shaped crack on top, the luckier the year. This quick version uses rice flour, a little wheat flour and baking powder, steamed hard so the tops burst open, and it is egg- and dairy-free. The mistake that stops them smiling is a gentle steamer; the water must be at a fierce rolling boil before the cups go in. Chef's tip: fill the cups right to the brim, so the batter has to split as it rises.

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Methia masalaPickle spice mix

In Gujarati homes, methia masala (also called achar masala or sambhar masala in Kathiawad) is mixed each April before the mango pickling begins, and a jar of it lasts the year. It is built on methi kuria and rai kuria, split fenugreek and split mustard seeds sold at every Gujarati grocer, which are bloomed in smoking-hot groundnut oil with hing so they lose their raw bitterness, then mixed with Kashmiri chilli powder, turmeric and salt. That one masala makes instant pickles of carrot, gunda, raw mango or kerda in minutes, is spooned beside khichu, thepla and dhokla and goes into methia keri, the classic Gujarati mango pickle. Common mistake: pouring the oil over the chilli powder while it is smoking hot; the chilli turns black and bitter. Chef's tip: pour the hot oil over the kuria and hing only, wait until it is just warm, and only then stir in the chilli, turmeric and salt.

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